Cas plays darts
by allowmetofangirl
Summary: Dean learns Cas has never played darts before and puts and end to it. This is my first supernatural fanfic so feedback would be greatly appreciated. Please read and review. Chapter one of two is uploaded.


A.N I do not own Supernatural or any of its characters, or any of the songs mentioned.

"So you've never play darts?" Dean asked as he sat down on the worn out bed. Dust bounced from the bed, cascading Dean causing him to cough and wave an arm blindly to clear the contaminated air. They were currently residing in a motel in Pennsylvania doing research for their latest hunt, what they had guessed was a rogue vamp, trying to make the murders seem almost like suicides.

Cas loomed over Dean his stance was relaxed as he walked over to the second bed and turning to Dean curious. His trench coat had been discarded on one of the chairs and his usually messed up appearance was strangely neat and trim. His head slightly tilted, wanting to know more about humans and their mundane methods of enjoyment. "There was never a need, of such, for 'darts', whatever that is. Although we did try to experiment with your methods of entertainment, we had fencing at one point, but that was soon banned, you really don't want to know why, and we gave up." His coarse, gravelly voice was the sole sound in the silent motel room.

Sam, who was hunched over in the corner with his laptop, looked up baffled. He shook his head with a sigh before returning to his research for the latest hunt. His long brown hair covered his eyes, making him grumble as he brushed it away.

Dean scratched his chin, the stubble brittle under his fingertips, in exasperation. His complexion was pale, pronouncing his fatigued state. He had been up all night of the past few days, doing research and hunting, and it had taken its toll on him. Dean gazed at Cas incredulously. He knew he should be used to Cas's odd personality and traits but the angel still managed to catch them off guard every once in awhile.

"Darts is like, knife throwing. We usually play it in bars to rack up some cash," Dean explained gesturing to Sam, who studiously ignored them, "It's like a rite of passage into manhood, after your first drink. Sammy, remember when I took you to play for the first time?"

Sam leaned back in his chair nostalgia flickered across his features. "A joint in Utah, right? I just turned 17, Dad was off hunting some werewolf or something."

Dean nodded, "I said that today was the day you became a man, and shoved you in the impala to that run down bar couple blocks down."

"I thought you are prohibited to consume alcohol under the age of 21, is that not correct?" Cas questioned, feeling lost in the brothers' reminiscing.

Dean looked down with a slightly haunted expression, "When you're a hunter, gotta grow up fast, or you ain't gonna make it."

Sam nodded before pushing his own chair back and gliding to the small mini fridge situated between the two beds. He opened the minuscule door and produced three beers. Sam gave one to Dean, who gladly accepted and began gulping down its contents greedily, he tried to give one to Cas, but he waved off his offer hoping to hear more of the story. Sam shrugged opening his own bottle and drinking it, he then walked back to his laptop, the chair screeching in protest when he pulled it.

"Then what happened?" Cas asked, unconsciously leaning forward.

"We went in and got a couple beers each, then just sorta played darts for a couple of hours. The place was deserted, so we ended up staying till almost 5 when they threw us out," Sam answered, his laptop sat idly on the table, work forgotten.

"Dad was so pissed that night, I only remember him screaming. Yelling about how hunters shouldn't get distracted when on a case, and how we could have gotten killed by the werewolf," Dean added.

Sam chuckled, "I'm surprised you remember any of it. You we're so out of it that you started serenading the bar tender."

Dean's eyebrows furrowed in concentration, determined to recall what had really happened that night. After a few moments of contemplation Dean smirked his eyes sparkled with mirth and amusement, " Was she hot?" His eyebrows rose suggestively.

Cas looked bewildered, "What would her temperature have to with anything?"

Dean closed his eyes in exasperation; he shook his head silently hoping that Cas would get the message to shut the hell up.

Sam, who ignored Cas's comment, shook with laughter. His whole frame rumbled as he tried to gain control. "He, was a middle aged, pot-bellied, bald man who didn't take kindly to your rendition of 'Baby one more time'"

Dean looked horrified at the idea of him performing anything like that to anyone much less someone that old and with that appearance, even if he was drunk out of his mind. He thought Sam might be pulling his leg but the conviction in his eyes told him otherwise. Castiel was stumped as to why Dean would asking a bartender about a baby, but he thought Dean and Sam would not appreciate his questions at this point in time.

"Could I perhaps play these 'darts'?" Castiel asked, his gaze switching between the Winchesters. Sam shrugged, "There's a bar a couple miles down, and we're not getting anywhere with this case, so why not?"

"C'mon Cas, time to become a man."

"But I'm an angel, I don't think it's possible for me to become a human."

"Just grab your coat and come play darts, ya' oversized tree topper."

The car ride was tranquil. The only sound was the faint music the radio emitted as the impala drove down the deserted streets of Pennsylvania. The amber glow of the streetlights illuminated the street below and they were the only guide for the hunters as to where they were heading in the dark abyss of the night. The moon shone dimly, looking isolated in the sky without any stars.

Dean and Sam sat up the front, vacantly staring ahead, black expressions. They both had bags under their eyes from the stress of the constant jobs and hunts they had undertook in the last week. Cas, who was situated in the back seat, leaned forward between Sam and Dean. He scrutinized his surrounding with fascination; his blue eyes scanned the empty sidewalk. Dean gritted his teeth, "Cas, remember what we said about personal space."

Cas flopped back into the seat dismissed and looked down at his hands. He pulled his tie down with vigor, feeling uncomfortable with its choking hold on his neck. He took out his angel blade and began twisting it in his hands, "Why an impala?"

"What?" Both Sam and Dean cried. Cas stared at the backseat mirror, trying to catch their eyes, before repeating, "Why an impala? It's not a very practical mode of transportation for your profession, why not something more inconspicuous?"

"Cas I just want to relax 'cause I'm so fucking tired right now, not the mention that this case had not been a help so can you just shut the hell up with the questions?" Dean growled, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter, as they turned white with strain.

Sam caught Cas's gaze in the side mirror and offered him a sympathetic smile as they pulled into the sidewalk next to the bar.

Sam opened the door and held it for both Dean and Cas. It was quiet. Two old aged men sat in a booth at the back of the bar, nursing their bottle, both looking as tired as the other. They studied the boys when the door opened before returning to their drinks. A man in his twenties sat at the bar his face was expressionless. He had a glass of whiskey that he downed and gestured for the bartender to get him another drink. Dean walked over to the man at the bar and held up three fingers. The bartender nodded and grabbed three bottles.

"Hey, you got a dart board round here?" Dean questioned, taking a sip and handing Sam and Cas their bottles, though Cas looked a little hesitant. The bartender nodded to his left where a slightly rotted dartboard lay against the wall, with its ripped wallpaper.

"Not much of a talker, ya' ray of sunshine," Dean muttered as he glided over to the board. The bartender glared at him as he walked by, continuing to clean one of the glasses. Sam picked up the darts resting on the table and passed them to Dean. He twirled them in his hand, the red paint on them was peeling and left a red, almost blood like colour, stain on his hand.

Time to teach an angel how to play darts.


End file.
